


The Dawn of Redeeming Grace

by ginchy



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: Christmas, CtM 2012 Christmas Special, F/M, Romance, beginnings of UST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-02-18 17:50:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13105422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ginchy/pseuds/ginchy
Summary: Missing moment from the CtM 2012 Christmas Special.  Sister Bernadette watches over baby Raymond.  Dr. Turner visits to examine the baby.





	The Dawn of Redeeming Grace

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write CtM Christmas fic, as I'm a sucker for Christmas fic. I haven't written Turnadette pre-wedding yet really, so this was amazingly fun to write! While re-watching the 2012 CS I saw two spots to write missing moments. I might try my hand at the other moment next. Thanks so much to my-little-yellowbird for looking this over for me, and helping with the title. Enjoy, and Happy Holidays!

The baby relaxed in her arms, deeply asleep after finishing his milk. Smiling at his satiated glut, she ran her fingers over his cheek, his newborn skin silky and soft under the pads of her fingers. He was a pleasant, warm weight in her arms, and though he slept she found that she couldn’t stop looking at him. His dark lashes fanned out over his cheeks and his bowed mouth brought a smile to her own. His basket sat on the table in front of her, but she settled more comfortably into the arm of the settee, cradling him close.

Nonnatus was quiet in the early evening. Jenny was on phone duty and sat nearby, just in case the slumbering Sister Monica Joan should wake and try to answer the phone’s ring. Sister Bernadette gladly offered her assistance to care for baby Raymond when the others were called to laboring mothers and district rounds. Raymond had caused quite the uproar among the nurses and other nuns, with each eager to hold and care for him. Even Fred was not immune, walking the baby to the windows to show him the garden and telling him of what fun they may have together there one day. A new baby was a gift from God, and looking into the sleeping baby’s face Sister Bernadette whispered a prayer of thanks for the baby who had not perished in his mother’s labor. That the mother sought refuge for the child brought tears to Bernadette’s eyes. What agony the mother must have been in, to birth and then leave her child. Remembering the placenta, with the piece missing, Sister Bernadette whispered another prayer, this time for the mother, that she would be found, healed, and reunited with her child.

As she finished the prayer Raymond shifted in his sleep, stretching his arm and puckering his lips. Unable to resist, Sister Bernadette took his little hand and pressed her lips to it. She bowed her head over him, smiling at the peaceful expression that his face shifted into as his lips relaxed and he delved back into deep slumber. As she watched him sleep she tried to remember the last time she had held a baby—really held one. She handled babies daily: delivering them, helping them with the first breath, and then handing them off to doctor or to their mothers. It was nice to simply hold Raymond, to take delight in his round cheeks and soft skin. Rubbing her thumb over the palm of the hand she still held, she smiled as the fingers fanned out. She touched each tiny digit, silently counting them.

An image of the mother she has delivered earlier that day came to her then, of the young girl sweaty, tired, but grinning, and how she had counted each finger and toe before proclaiming her baby girl to be perfect.

Sister Bernadette tucked Raymond’s hand into his blanket, and made to stand, to place the baby in the basket. She knew she had no right to count his fingers and toes, to pretend to something that was not hers. Before she could lay the baby down she heard the front door open and then close, and a familiar voice call a soft hello. She turned, baby still in her arms, to see Dr. Turner enter the room, hat and overcoat dusted with newly fallen snow.

“Dr. Turner, greetings,” she said, shifting the baby so that his arm was not trapped against her. “Are you in need of sterilized equipment?”

“Not this time, Sister,” he said, setting his bag on the floor before removing his coat and hat and hanging them on the coat rack. “The new autoclave has finally arrived, just in time for Christmas. I’m actually here to take a look at this little fellow. Sister Julienne apprised me on the situation and asked me to stop in.”

“He’s in fine fettle now,” Sister Bernadette said, smiling down at the infant. “When Cynthia and Trixie found him he was nearly blue with cold, the poor wee thing.”

“It is a rough start for the little chap,” Dr. Turner agreed, stepping closer and looking into the baby’s face. “Has he wet yet? And had his first bowel movement?”

“Only just, and it was as you would expect. He has also wet, and should have done, as he’s already very interested in feeding.”

Dr. Turner grinned. “Well, then, it seems he’s doing all that he should be doing.” He stroked a finger over the baby’s cheek. “I’ll need to examine him, but he looks to be quite comfortable with you.”

Sister Bernadette tamped down a smile before looking up at the doctor. She was surprised to find just how close he was, and fought to keep herself from stepping back. He was looking at Raymond, but she found herself interested in the line of the doctor’s jaw. It was slightly darkened with stubble, and her cheeks flushed when she realized she was staring. She pulled her gaze from his jaw to his eyes, to find Dr. Turner looking at her expectantly. “He is comfortable, but he should sleep for some time now, Doctor.” She swiftly handed the baby over and stepped back. Her heart picked up pace in her chest, and she willed herself to calm.

Dr. Turner was oblivious to her racing heart, and she was glad for his distraction in baby Raymond. He gently placed the baby on the sofa and removed his stethoscope from his bag. He warmed the chest piece between his hands before unswaddling Raymond and placing the instrument on his chest. He listened for a moment and smiled. “That all sounds as it should.” He pressed the instrument to the baby’s stomach and listened again. His smile lengthened and he removed the ear tips and hung the instrument from his neck. “Well hello,” he said, smiling down at the baby, who blinked his eyes slowly.

Sister Bernadette’s stomach clenched as she watched Dr. Turner smile and coo at the baby. He held out a finger for the baby to grasp, and she tried not to notice how frayed the cuffs of the doctor’s jacket were. They matched the darn in the knee of his trousers, and yet as she watched him continue to check the baby’s reflexes, all the while talking to Raymond and making little faces at him, she couldn’t help but think that he looked very pleasing. Very handsome. She swallowed hard. “And what is your diagnosis, Doctor?”

Dr. Turner looked up with a grin. “Forgive me, Sister. Too often in clinic I deal with children terrified of their jabs or scared to let me touch them, worried it’ll hurt. With babies I hand them straight on to their mothers. I’m afraid I got caught up in such a compliant patient.”

Unable to suppress it, Sister Bernadette gave a small smile. How similar his thoughts were to her own on handling babies. “Compliant and bonny,” she agreed.

“He is that. And, as you diagnosed earlier, in fine fettle. His heart rate is strong and his lungs are clear. Hiis reflexes are on target. He’s a healthy boy.” He gathered the baby in his arms and stood, rocking gently from side to side.

“We are thankful to the Lord for watching over him and granting him health.” She watched him rock the baby, and thought back to when his own son was small. “Is Timothy getting into the holiday spirit? I remember that you were concerned. I understand that he has a part in the nativity play.”

Dr. Turner looked at her and smiled. “He does. And he is. I think the play is just the thing he needed to help ease him into the holiday. He’s very proud to play the violin. Keeps reminding me to not be late for the performance.”

Sister Bernadette smiled again. “I’m sure you’ll be on time and he’ll do a wonderful job with his music.”

“Thank you.” He moved to hand Raymond back to her. As she took him, Dr. Turner looked down at her, rather intently. “I want to thank you for your words the other evening, Sister.”

Sister Bernadette looked down at the baby, still clutching Dr. Turner’s finger in his hand. She heard the words she had said that evening, almost as if she had said them again, aloud. _Children are more resilient than you think_. “I am glad to have been of assistance.”

“You were. And I thank you again.” He pulled his finger away from the baby, after pretending to shake it as in a handshake. “It was nice to have met you, Raymond.” He glanced at his watch. “I must go and pick up Timothy. Is there anything else I can do to help you with this little fellow?”

“No thank you, Doctor. You’ve been very kind.” Sister Bernadette now rocked the baby, and his eyes began to close in slumber once more.

“I’ll be on my way, then.” He packed his bag and turned to leave. “By the way,” he said, turning back. “The song you’re humming sounds lovely.”

“Humming?” Sister Bernadette was taken aback. “I’ve been humming?”

With a laugh Dr. Turner gestured toward her. “Just now. And when I first came in I heard it, too.” He hummed a few bars.

Sister Bernadette stared at him. “It’s something my mother used to sing to me. I hadn’t realized I was humming it.”

“Well,” he said, buttoning his coat and placing his hat on his head, “it was very beautiful.” He smiled. “Good night, Sister.”

“Good night,” she responded faintly, looking at Raymond until she heard the front door close. She started to hum, cognizant of it this time, but the front door opened once more and then Trixie was there and Cynthia, and they crowded around, eager to see the baby after their afternoon away.

“We saw Dr. Turner,” Cynthia said, taking the baby and settling him into her arms. “He said Raymond was fit and strong.”

“That he is,” she said, smiling at the girls. “I’ll take your instruments for cleaning.” She took their bags and their distracted thanks as she left the room. She felt cold and her arms felt empty without the baby’s weight.

Setting up near the autoclave she began to empty the bags and to clean the tools, attempting to push all thoughts of babies, lullabies, and the district GP from her mind.


End file.
